


Nostalgia

by WowIHateMyself



Category: Joji - Fandom
Genre: Everyone except George is just mentioned, M/M, for now anyways, wet socks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 10:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WowIHateMyself/pseuds/WowIHateMyself
Summary: Just a short little one shot loosely inspired by the song Growing Up by AlexJoji decides that maybe he’s gotta breach the gap while freezing his ass off on his balcony.





	Nostalgia

The cold rain seeped into his socks and the lower half of his joggers, the only part of him not protected by the above balcony’s cover. The rain was barely a drizzle, but the cutting early winter air made his feet feel as if they were submerged in freezing water. It wasn’t bad though, he’d been out here long enough for the sharp cold in his feet to morph into a warm caress. He was fairly sure that meant they were getting /too cold/ but he could stand to lose a few toes if need be and this was about the closest thing to a hug he’d gotten in a while. 

He didn’t think he’d be lonely, once he’d reached his goal. He thought he’d have everything he’d ever wanted and on the surface he did. Women, money, music, freedom, even a few people he’d call friends. But he forgot one thing, one painfully crucial thing. 

Love… 

As cheesy as that sounded, there was no other word for it. For what he felt for him. He’d tried to deny it for so long, still does sometimes, but it was hard to lie to yourself up on this cold balcony. Not with the ever moving uncaring city below him and winter slowly seeping into his skin. There was no denying the truth while he felt so bare. 

He was stuck. Trapped in the past, in Max’s hot disgusting house, on that couch he’d shared with Ian, forever staring into those brown eyes hoping, pleading to see something more in them. 

And maybe he did, he was never sure. He’d never been good at that kind of thing, not when he was known by George, Frank, or Joji. Maybe no one was. 

Because, maybe, eyes didn’t tell anyone anything. Didn’t let you look into someone’s soul, couldn’t tell you anymore then where someone was looking. And why would they? 

So, he never advanced, too afraid to mess up an already good thing. To mess up videos. To mess up any chance of him ever being able to come back to Max’s place and see his friends. It didn’t matter that he had to squeeze onto a couch with Ian every night, or be surrounded by that horribly familiar rotting milk and egg and whatever the fuck else they’d thrown around Max’s house smell. It didn’t matter that the days were hot and flies were everywhere because they had to leave the door open for the cats. Because that house meant Ian, it meant max and chad and howtobasic and warren and /Ian/. 

Now though, that house was gone and max lives in a much cleaner place with his girlfriend and Kevin. And he was Joji now, he doesn’t make stupid videos for YouTube anymore, he doesn’t have an excuse to see his friends anymore. He barely even messages them anymore. Neither he nor Ian are especially good at keeping in contact with people, only talking when something comes up and it never does with him. Not like with chad anyways. He’s got no controversies for Ian to make fun of him for. No advice to be given. No shitty inappropriate pictures to laugh at with.

Sometimes he wonders if Ian even thinks about him anymore, and if he does, does he think about frank or Joji? 

Or george. 

He’s tried to block Ian from his thoughts over the years, tried to focus on the friends he has right now, like Brian and August. To focus on the girls that he’s with in the moment. But it never works out, Ian always seems to weasel his way into his thoughts. 

He’s not sure Ian will ever go away. 

He’ll always be a what if. 

A could be. 

A fucking regret. 

A nostalgia trip that only makes him feel worse. Makes him want more. 

Maybe if he just… 

The familiar weight in his pocket was gone. He stood on numb feet, slowly and carefully making his way back into his apartment after what must of been hours on that cold, lonely balcony. 

His socks squished against the floor, no doubt leaving a trail of water from the door to his living room. He should take them off, he really should, but he can’t seem to muster up the energy to. Using all of what’s left to pick up his phone. 

You up? : me  
[4:06]

Ian : yeah dude  
: ?  
[4:10]

Maybe he’d just have to start putting in the effort, like max.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, like I said, real fucking short. I /could/ make a full story out of this but I’d be doing it at the same time as another story so prolly not. Unless people actively want me to


End file.
